


You're The One (That Makes Me Whole)

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Series: 50 Shades of Samifer [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Lucifer, Dominant Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Gentle Dominant, M/M, Sexual Equality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds solace and trust in the Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're The One (That Makes Me Whole)

**Author's Note:**

> **Kinks:** Dom/Sub; Gentle!Dom, Orgasm Denial
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> **Note:** What I gathered from gentle domination is that it is the absence of violence, humiliation and force when it comes to control. It seems more strongly focused on emotional development. I think here what I was trying to accomplish focusing less on the act but more of the individual as this confidant.
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> _"Sex isn't something we do, it's a place where we go..."_ \- Esther Perel 

Sam’s fingerprints leave bruises that struggle to match the pigmentation of the broken seeds. Pomegranate seeds crushed by blunt molars and cut by sharp incisors, a deep burgundy spilling out, stains Sam’s lips the way bruises stain Lucifer’s skin. Sam’s thumb is painted the color of wine from where he’s pushed the seeds into Lucifer’s mouth, the archangel sucking and lapping at the digit but only successfully able to pull the taste into his mouth. Lucifer returns the favor by sharing the hue and taste with his counterpart. There Sam’s mouth becomes the personification of the fruit with the way the pink is overcome by the fruit’s juice through openmouthed kisses and the push of Lucifer’s tongue. Six seeds smeared into the fleshy insides of his mouth and saturated in his taste buds till all Sam could taste was the fruit and nothing else.

The fruit has been picked on in the bed, greedy fingers breaking it further apart and plucking the seeds. Their mess coats the bare expanse of their thighs, Lucifer’s bearing sticky paths while Sam’s clean. The crook of a finger and whatever excess of juice that has landed on the hunter’s thighs cleaned with the archangel’s mouth, leaving wet stripes that makes the Winchester’s skin glisten in the lighting seeping between the curtains. Sam would spill on purpose, more frequent and intentional, enjoying the way sun-kissed scruff would drag across the inside of his thighs as a frigid tongue laps at his warm skin. 

He can sit for hours basking in the sensation, often the gesture cut short when the tyrannical archangel drags his cheek across his abdomen, causing him to fall into a fit of laughter. There’s something rather breathless about the upturn of Lucifer’s mouth when he’s watching Sam laugh, muted in content and hair wildly askew on his head. It’s an unspoken testament of the archangel’s affections towards him, Sam acutely aware of the ancient being’s feelings for him for a while now. It’s a blinding rush that makes his heart jerk in his ribcage, but Sam is unsure of where he stands. 

The hunter knows Lucifer would wait till the end of time and more to hear those words returned, patient and undemanding. Thoughts like these only makes Sam want to curl his fingers through Lucifer’s hair and scratch at his scalp, listening to the coming rumbles of pleasure trapped in the archangel’s chest. Sam’s flattered but still quietly unsure.

The brunette pulls Lucifer’s head up, fingers hooked under his jaw to greet him with a chaste kiss. “Lay on your stomach, hands by your sides. Stay still for me,” Sam speaks. It’s all rather difficult, in Sam’s mind, to label the request as an order. Rather feeling that it is an expression of wants and needs shared by the both of them. 

Sam finds solace in the archangel, enjoying the comfortable foundations of trust continuing to be strengthened and built upon. He enjoys their seamless connection and fluidity in the manner they interact with the other, finding it as a luxury and chance to unwind. 

They switch and slip into different roles whenever they wish, Sam no longer embarrassed nor Lucifer rigid when the discussion comes up. It’s casual and lighthearted, coming to the point where they can chat about it while doing nonsensical things such as Sam eating lunch while Lucifer tries to understand the anatomy of a french fry. It makes this -- this relationship with one of Heaven’s Most Wanted whose name is forever immortal -- something that can be tangible and associated with normalcy, finding the threads and hooks for stable ground reaching Sam’s fingers.

Sam feels spoiled by it all.

The crowned-again monarch of Heaven’s basement submits to him and him alone, offering his neck with lips curled containing the breath of a challenge. He has the most beautiful being in all of Creation’s attention and more. 

He’s a sight to see, pale skin stretched over bones and muscles, hiding the apocalyptic burn of Grace and wings. Sam traces his thumb across the archangel’s spinal column, feeling every bump and ridge. Lucifer stays obediently still. The hunter smiles, eyes watching the archangel as he lets his fingers drag up this time. Lucifer remains put but the skin on his back breaks into goosebumps when fingers trace the curvature of his shoulder blades. 

Sam lets his lips kiss each portion of his back and the archangel is clenching onto the comforter tightly. It’s when he runs the flat of his tongue over the curves and bends, sucking on the spot between both shoulder blades, does the archangel writhe underneath him. Sensitive nerve endings are tongued and attacked by his mouth, listening to the hoarse plea from the archangel in a broken and forgotten language Sam can’t make heads or tails of. It makes Sam’s arousal twitch in agreement, the noise making his neck flushed.

The hunter pulls away when he’s certain his nose will get rammed into by Lucifer’s movements, the hint of a satisfied smirk slipping on his lips. Sam’s aware of the archangel pressing up against him, nearly lifting him from his hovered perch above the blond’s backside. Lucifer’s shoulders are pulled back, nearly touching, creating tunnel of muscles, skin and bone that captures Sam’s interest. 

Sam wants to admire and observe, but the archangel misstepped by moving. 

“ _Lucifer_ ,” Sam firmly cuts in and the blond gives a sound in acknowledgment, body sinking back down onto the mattress. The hunter observes the forced movements to keep his shoulders from its pulled back state, hands fisting into the comforter. “Good,” he praises, leaning down to kiss the nape of Lucifer’s neck.

Honey instead of vinegar is different for them, the two beings both well-versed in motions rough and violent due to numerous of reasons whether it mainly lies with preference to environment. They simply understood in the brusque tug of hair to the drag of nails before embarking on different territory. It was a pleasant realization to find there is more to gain with this usage of control. It’s more sincere to the trust being handled, something both parties have been craving.

Quiet groans are exhaled, body falling into a fit of fine tremors as Sam marks the expanse of Lucifer’s back. Teeth nip about the edges of each blade till the skin turns pink, deeper shades of teethmarks entrapping the lighter hue. Creating a path in the ringlets of marks, Sam shifts back and gives a pleased hum. 

This sweeter rendition of their play has certainly left them more emotionally invested in the other, more acute to the other’s feelings and wants.

They remain close like pages in a book, pressed against the other with progressions of story and thought. Sam explains what he wishes and what he wants, Lucifer answers with smooth transitions and this slow roll of shoulders to feature the sinewy beauty of his back as if preening to the hunter. It’s a place of interest for both parties, Sam knowing that if he glorifies with his mouth certain sections of his shoulder blades that the archangel’s body will fall into a fit of tremors. His hips will shift and muscles in his back twitch, struggling to keep his body still and resist the easy urge to rut against the comforter, vocabulary replaced with throaty notes and Sam’s name sung through whines and pleas.

“Hands behind your back. Shoulders pulled back as far as you can.” 

Arms move back, one hand gripping the opposite wrist, both shoulders drawing back till that tunnel is formed once more. It’s displayed in pink and Sam wiggles a finger between the pinched blades. “Part it a bit more -- perfect,” he adjusts, rubbing his index finger across the hard bottom formed by his spine to the secure walls of cool flesh the blades provide. “Keep it there. Don’t move,” the Winchester explains as he maneuvers further up the archangel. 

Lucifer remains put Sam doesn’t need to look back to know that the archangel is moving his feet so his toes are digging into the mattress as if bracing himself. Eight times out of ten, Lucifer is compliant and quick to act in accordance to Sam’s words.

When Lucifer is insufferable and noncompliant, maneuvering about the bed like a haughty feline, stretching long limbs and exuding an emotion bred by coyness and boredom, does Sam up the ante. _A fiddle of gold against your soul says I’m better than you._ It’s only when there are streaks of inflamed red across his backside and legs trembling do those pretty words of obedience come pouring out once more. _Yes, please._ Sam would push his fingers into the raised welts, rubbing the pads of each digit across them, skin burned white when pressured is applied. _Yes, sir._ When Sam dips down to drag his tongue across the resurfaced skin of Lucifer’s backside, can he taste the leather of his belt amongst the clean taste of the archangel’s frostbitten skin.

_Just for you...._

It’s nothing but bliss when he finally slips his length between both shoulder blades, forcing himself to start at a painfully slow pace. Hips roll with easy direction, listening to the wheezed groans underneath him as if someone punched the archangel in the gut. It’s a delicious drag backwards to an easy push forward, enjoying the different sensations of bumps and grooves against the underside of his length. Sam keeps his palm over space between the blades, keeping his arousal pinned as his eyes still remain on Lucifer. 

He’s beautiful like this, lips forming his name but only managing to get that gorgeous push of a groan: thick and whole in the beginning of the note before it forms into a mixture of both sound and exhale of air. White-knuckling the comforter and eyes closing shut when his hips pick up the pace, the friction between hot and cold making the space between both blades wet with perspiration. Lucifer is kept pinned, Sam’s knees and legs taking away the potential to even move his arms, only causing the archangel to emit high-pitched whines and broken moans. 

When Sam joins him, a thick moan slipping out of his throat, does Lucifer answer with his name. Lucifer sounds so throughly _wrecked_ and _fucked_ that Sam can’t help but let his free hand drag blunt nails across one of the angel’s shoulder blade to illicit more. Lucifer’s broken into chanting Sam’s name through whines, pleading for -- pleaseSampleaseSampleaseSampleaseSam -- more. When the muscles in Lucifer’s back are spasming about him and the tremor lining Lucifer’s body becoming more noticeable, does Sam know the blond is close. 

“Sam,” Lucifer unabashedly begs, “Can I please come?” 

Sam’s hips give a jerk, stuttering in its pace at the request for permission. No matter how many times Lucifer will ask, Sam can’t get over the electric snag of vibrant and blinding pleasure that fills his being. The moan is hoarse from vocal cords going raw, Lucifer’s mouth slack jawed and heaving for air as if he suddenly needs to utilize his lungs. It makes the pit of heat in the Winchester burn the lining of his insides, the ache and need for release sitting heavy. 

“Not yet,” Sam replies gruffly and Lucifer smothers the whine threatening to leave his mouth by biting into the abused comforter. It takes a moment till Lucifer can release the comforter, fighting off the blinding need to spill into the comforter, the archangel shaken. Sam praises him in turn, the words breathless and drawn apart. 

When Sam feels that familiar wash of heat beginning to invade his system does he slide off of Lucifer. “Turn around and sit up right in front of me,” Sam steadying his voice and refusing to rush through the request, maintaining a level of control despite the crushing need screaming at him. There’s a set of blue eyes soon staring at him and Sam briefly examines the smeared precum across the archangel’s abdomen. The tip of his length is beautiful shade of red and Sam does not hesitate to move closer to it, sliding onto Lucifer’s lap. 

Sam traces the head of Lucifer’s length, the angel nearly collapsing forward into Sam but he restrains himself, giving a low pleading sound from the core of his belly. The hunter leans forward to kiss the nearly pouting angel on the lips before he’s lining up their lengths. Stroking them with a rather fevered pace, unable to hide his own need for lease, Lucifer’s hips tremble in exertion to remain put. 

“You can come,” Sam rushes out as he comes over Lucifer and his hand, the archangel following quickly after with a choked sob. It takes a moment for Sam’s hand to slide off of them both, taking the time to regain his breath and slow down his fevered heartbeat. 

Lucifer’s the first to make movement to the other, hands framing Sam’s face and pulling him down to crush his mouth against his in a bruising kiss. Sam nearly looses his breath and the sound issuing out of his throat is swallowed by the archangel. There’s something about the way that Lucifer follows-up with the light peppering of kisses across his jaw that tells him that the archangel is thoroughly impressed and satisfied. Sam chuckles and loops his arms around the archangel’s neck, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his. 

“You were...amazing,” the hunter compliments, the blond smiling and letting his hands trail up to Sam’s sides, rubbing them slowly. Their eyes remained closed, Lucifer taking in Sam’s exhale of air greedily, taste of pomegranate still making note on his taste buds. “Bath? My treat,” Sam finally murmurs in offering, the archangel releasing a hum at the idea of being pampered and cleaned. Enjoys the idea of Sam kissing all the bruises on his skin and rubbing at the spots where his shoulders are sore from being pulled back for so long. 

Gingerly drawing back, the archangel moves a hand to push the hair out of Sam’s eyes, tucking it behind his ear. There should be movement towards the bathroom, but the hunter remains comfortably put on Lucifer’s cool lap, temperature soothing against his heated and sweaty skin. It’s these moments that Sam enjoys the most. While the physical motions of their relationship always have a way of pushing him to the edge where he feels dazed and lightheaded, it’s these coming down moments that stay with him. It’s moments like these that lull him into a comforting sensation of safety and security. It's more than nice, it's fulfilling and leaves him warm from the toe up. It's something he wants to keep and remember.

Sam lets his clean fingers idly toy with the hair at the back of Lucifer’s skull before he’s blurting out: 

_“I love you.”_

“Is this postcoital bliss speaking?” Lucifer teases gently, the underlying of wariness trailing through the construction of each word. 

Sam shakes his head, smile plastered on his lips, “No. This is Sam Winchester speaking.”


End file.
